Part 34 (1/2)

”I'm sure, sir, I don't know. All I can tell is, that he's sure not to be anywhere in Liverpool; for he told me the morning he left me that he was going to leave the town, and should not come back again.”

”I'm grieved to hear it,” said the baronet. ”And can you give us a clue, Mrs Jones, to our dear misguided child's present place of abode?

Can you suggest no way of finding it out?”

”I fear not, sir; Mr Oldfield has left nothing behind him except his Bible and Prayer-book, which he asked me to accept as a token of his kind feeling and regard, he was good enough to say.”

”His Bible and Prayer-book! Oh, let me look at them,” exclaimed Lady Oldfield.

Mrs Jones brought them. The Prayer-book was one given him on his twelfth birthday by his mother. His name in it was in her own handwriting. The Bible was a much newer book, and bore but few marks of use. It was a gift from Mary Oliphant. The handwriting of his name was hers, as was also that of two texts below the name, which were written out in full--

”Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.”

”There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but G.o.d is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able, but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”

Lady Oldfield gazed at these books and the writing in them for a long time without uttering a word, and without shedding a tear. It seemed as though the sight had for the moment chained every other feeling, and left her only the power to stare wildly at the two familiar handwritings.

”And he has parted with these,” she said at last, half out loud; ”he has given them away. Oh, merciful Father in heaven, what has become of my unhappy boy?”

”Calm yourself, my dear,” said Sir Thomas; ”let us hope that things may be better than our fears.”

”I'm sure, ma'am,” said Mrs Jones, ”I should never think of keeping these books if you or Mr Oldfield's father wish to have them.”

”Oh, it is not that, it is not that,” sobbed Lady Oldfield. ”Are you a mother, Mrs Jones?” she cried, turning abruptly to her.

”Yes, ma'am; I've had seven children, and five are living now.”

”Then you'll understand _my_ feelings as a mother. I fear, oh, I cannot say how terribly I fear, that poor Frank means to do something dreadful; perhaps to--to--oh, I can't bear to think of it.”

”Why, my dear, why,” asked her husband, ”should you think so?”

”Why, Thomas! Oh, isn't there something terrible in his parting with these two books, my gift and dear Mary's gift, and at such a time?

Doesn't it seem as if he was turning his back upon everything that is good and holy, and simply giving himself up to despair. Isn't it like saying, 'The Bible's no longer a book for me, for G.o.d is no longer my G.o.d?' Isn't it like saying, 'Prayer is no longer for me, for G.o.d will not hear me.'”

”My dearest wife,” said Sir Thomas, anxiously, ”don't look at the darkest side. Don't lose your faith and trust now. My good Mrs Jones, you see we're in sore trouble. You can understand how our hearts are almost broken about our erring son, but still he _is_ our son, and very dear to us; and we want you to help us to find him, if it be possible.”

”I'm sure, sir,” replied the kind-hearted landlady, ”I do feel for you both with all my heart, and only wish I knew what to advise. But really I know no more than yourselves where Mr Oldfield is likely to be found.

It seems that he's wished to keep it a secret, and so he has purposely kept me in the dark.”

Sir Thomas sighed.

”I understand exactly how it is,” he said. ”I do not see what we can do, except endeavour to get a clue through the police. By the way, Mrs Jones, you don't happen to know the names or lodgings of any of his a.s.sociates? That might help us, if you did.”

”I do not, sir; for I never saw one of them enter this house. Your son never brought any one home with him as I know of. Jacob Poole and he were the only persons who ever were together here while he had my lodgings.”

”Do you happen, then, ever to have heard him mention where any of his companions lived? I mean those persons he used to stay out with at night or in the day?”

”Never, sir.”

”Nor so much as the name of any of his a.s.sociates?”